


If All It Took

by Galysh_Sky



Series: Gate 7 Soulmate AU [1]
Category: Gate 7
Genre: Deviates From Canon, Gen, Pre-TachiSaku, Soulmate AU, that will vary, third term pronouns for Hana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 06:19:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12929325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galysh_Sky/pseuds/Galysh_Sky
Summary: Tachibana probably should have listened to his mother, but then again being alive is such a nice thing.





	If All It Took

**Author's Note:**

> Playing around with more AUs, because focusing on one is overrated.

                 For as long as he could remember, there was a section on his left wrist that felt cold to the touch. No matter how sunny it was outside, or how feverish Tachibana felt that one patch remained as cold as ice.

                For as long as he could remember, his mother had bid him to keep his left wrist wrapped with cloth. It didn’t matter the weather, or the material as long as it was covered she would smile at him. Once, he’d asked ‘ _why_.’ Her subsequent answer had been filled with warnings, droning sentences, and the promise to explain when he was older.

                For as long as he could remember, his father and his father’s father’s father had looked down on him with scorn. Even when he brought back straight 100s on his exams, or performed his rituals with the greatest precision, they turned away with chilled gazes.

                For as long as he could remember, his sister had been his sole haven. Her smile had been the rising sun in his tempestuous life, her gentle arms what he fled into when the pain became too much. Yet, even she had looked sorrowful the first time she’d seen his mark and bid him to keep it covered.

                Hundred of years later, Tachibana sits cross legged on a sofa and stares at the array of pale skin in front of him. He should be reading, he has an exam tomorrow, and yet he can’t tear his eyes away from the mark. It’s broad and elaborate, sending sprawling black tendrils over a shoulder blade, and down the small of the back. The tendrils are uneven, some even breaking apart halfway as if deliberately disrupted, by what he’s not entirely sure. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, his mother’s voice warning him in half-forgotten terms surfaces, but he shoves it back down, he’s gotten good at ignoring her.

                Mikoto floats over, preluding the appearance of Hidestugu bearing a large platter on which several earthen bowls are set. Tachibana swiftly lowers his gaze back to his book, but his eyes come to rest on his inner wrist instead of the page. The mark has been exuding an abnormal amount of coldness for the last week, and nothing he’d done would calm it. The ache is not painful, unlike when it had burned him as a child. The temperature shifts dramatically, and Tachibana looks up in time to see his boss lower a brush to the man’s left shoulder. There is an uncomfortable feeling churning in his stomach, and it only grows when he notices that Hidestugu is resting his hand on the shoulder bearing the solar mark. His breath mists out in front of him and he curls deeper into the sofa pulling his feet up.

                The stranger, Sakura, as he’d been introduced earlier bows his head and shudders but otherwise makes no sound. Tachibana is impressed despite himself, the inked brush does not leave a pleasant feeling as it slips under the skin. There is a quiet pattering and Hana appears at his shoulder, perched easily on the sofa backing. Their eyes are wide and solemn, as they have been every time he’d seen them out of meals. They’ve yet to say a word to him, other than his name when they’d first been introduced. Hidestugu sets aside the brush and rises with a smile, he tugs lightly on the long strands of white hair. Sakura turns to face him, tilting his head back inquiringly, there is a smile on his face as if he hadn’t just been branded. The odd feeling in his guts returns with a vengeance, when his boss, his master to use the correct term, leans forwards and presses a chaste kiss to the pale forehead. He straightens a moment later and strides from the room, Mikoto clinging on and giggling.

                Hana hops over the sofa, landing neatly on the coffee table before they bound over to their newest member whose pulling on his over shirt with slow movements. Tachibana watches them warily, preparing himself to interfere should the white-haired man do something. Hana might only have spoken to him once, but they were still his charge.

                “Sakura?”

                “Hmm?”

                “Sakura.”

                At the second call, the newcomer turns fully to look down at her, the smile hasn’t left his face. Tachibana wonders if he’s an idiot. Hana, however beams, excitement usually reserved for noodles brightening them up. “Sakura!” They exclaim, then points to themselves, “Hana,” points to Tachibana, “Tachibana.”

                “Pleasure to meet you,” Sakura replies, when his gaze comes to rest on him, Tachibana feels the feeling intensify and he glowers back silently, rubbing distractedly at his wrist. The lunar clansman’s gaze flits down to his bandaged wrist before he looks up again, eyes slightly narrowed. The temperature warms up again, returning to his previous mugginess.


End file.
